


A Few Days Off

by 7PercentSolution



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Episode: s01e02 The Blind Banker, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 11:43:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5289410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7PercentSolution/pseuds/7PercentSolution
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade takes a break for some important R&R, leaving Sherlock to deal with Dimmock- there are consequences when he tries to take his eye off the Consulting Detective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One

The first time he laid eyes on John Watson, Lestrade was not sure what to make of the small former army doctor. He'd just been told by text that Sherlock finally had a new flatmate, and that meant he could at last get back into casework. Greg was so focussed on the serial suicides that the flatmate could have been a trained chimpanzee for all he cared. He needed Sherlock back at work, and the flatmate was a means to that end. The man's cane had thrown him the first time he saw him sitting in the armchair in the new flat. But he didn't have time for introductions then, so he'd just run back down the stairs. He got a better look when the doctor accompanied Sherlock to Lauriston Gardens and the crime scene, but Sherlock had not bothered (again) to introduce him. Really, did he think so little of Lestrade that a terse "He's with me" would be enough for the Di to assume he was trustworthy?

Actually, when he'd had time to think about it, yeah, it was enough. Because, in the years since a skinny seventeen year old turned up on one of his crime scenes, no one had ever accompanied him. Apart from the occasional drug dealer, homeless person or criminal suspect, Sherlock had never even been seen by Lestrade as willingly in the company of another human being. Of course, there'd been incidents and accidents, which were the times when his brother came into view. But no one could take their relationship as a 'normal' one. Sherlock had no "friends"- well, apart from Greg. But even he knew that the enigma called Sherlock would probably not recognise him as being one, no matter how often he showed up on Greg's doorstep, on the DI's crime scene, or in his thoughts when he was bored.

So, when a rather ordinary person showed up, not only with Sherlock, but with him because Sherlock actually  _wanted_  his company- well, that was a first.

And Greg's suspicions were tweaked when the doctor showed up outside the police tape at the college, after Sherlock reported the death of the London cab driver. When Sherlock stopped in mid-flow his deduction about the mystery marksman who shot the serial killer, those suspicions tightened up a couple of notches. When the DI talked to Mycroft Holmes and realised that the marksman had not been one of his agents, nor an SO6 officer, then the circumstantial evidence was pretty conclusive. But Mycroft had vetted the doctor and passed him as acceptable, and he was the one who declared that no further investigation of the death of Jeff Hope was needed. So, Lestrade sat on his concerns. But he couldn't help but wonder if it was a good idea to have Sherlock share a flat with a man with an unlicensed firearm, who clearly knew how to use it.

Mind you, at least he'd used it to keep Sherlock alive this time.  _So far, so good._  That said, it meant that Greg would be keeping an eye on him as well as on Sherlock.

oOo

But not today. In fact, not for several days, which comprised the sum total of leave that Greg had taken in the past year. At the insistence of Louise, he was travelling up to Manchester for a three day break to attend the baptism of her sister's first child. Louise was Godmother, "and you are coming if I have to drag you out of the office in handcuffs myself."

It hadn't come to that, fortunately. He'd left Sally in charge on the couple of on-going investigations, and strict instructions that anything new was to be handed off to one of the other Murder Investigation Teams. At Louise's insistence, as they caught the 9.07 train from Euston Station to Manchester he took his phone out of his pocket and ceremoniously turned it off. She then held out her hand. She probably knew him well enough to realise that he would turn it on again at some point to check for messages and missed calls. So, he slipped it into her hand and watched it disappear into her handbag.

"Just once, Greg, I'd like to have a family occasion when the events happening in our lives are more important than some criminal's activity. And, I will remind you just once that the topic of conversation today at the service and the reception afterwards should not be thought of as an occasion to tell people about what you actually do for a living. Up North, people aren't quite so friendly when they learn you are a policeman. So, just consider this an undercover operation- you get to pretend to be my husband for a whole three days. My family can't forget the fact that you investigate murders, but promise me that for the next three days you'll just try to be normal with them." He sighed. She had a point, and he couldn't really argue. The job did become all-encompassing at times.

oOo

"What do you mean he isn't available?" Sherlock's incredulous tone irked Sally. "I texted him, then phoned him, but there's no reply."

"That's right, Freak, he's taken three days off. I'm in charge and I'm not taking anything on new, and certainly not if it involves you."

"But there's a dead body lying on the bed in Flat 8 Kestral Buildings on Moreland Street. That's in Hoxteth, so definitely in your jurisdiction.

"And you're standing over it? Wow- it's happened even earlier than I thought. I always said you've end up on the wrong side of the law." Her sarcasm was unbridled. No Lestrade to tell her to play nicely with the man. She was enjoying this.

"Look Sergeant, I don't care who you send, but police should be called for a suspicious death, so I'm calling, this is a crime scene that needs processing, and the Met has to respond to me as they would to any civilian ringing it in."

"Try ringing the crime reporting line, like normal mortals. As the person is already dead, the number you should call is 101, not 999." And she hung up. The grin on her face stayed there for the rest of the morning. She hoped he had a fun time queuing up with the drunks, the little old ladies worrying about burglars and people reporting their cats missing.

oOo

The church was draughty, and Greg had some sympathy for his wife's new godson, who was bawling his head off.  _Just wait until the vicar puts cold water on your head, mate. You'll just_ love _that._ The vicar was now intoning the words of the service, "In baptism this child Tom begins his journey in faith. You speak for him today. Will you care for him, and help him to take his place within the life and worship of Christ's Church?"

Louise looked lovely in her cream coloured suit, standing next to her sister, her brother-in-law and the chap who had been chosen as godfather. He'd been introduced very quickly, and promptly forgot the bloke's name. All four of them by the font answered the vicar with the time-honoured reply, "with the help of God, we will." Tom had stopped crying for a moment, and was staring at the feathers on Louise's hat, which were moving in the breeze. ( _It's not a hat, Greg; it's called a Fascinator._ ) He smirked and thought that it was certainly fascinating her godson.

Once the church service was over, the party moved to Louise's parents' house. He'd always got on with her father. Brian was a big bluff Mancunian with a droll sense of humour- he'd needed it with a wife and four daughters. Sometimes Greg thought rather uncharitably that his father-in-law was as welcoming of Greg as he was, simply because he had one less daughter to worry about. Over the seven years they'd been married, Louise's father had been supportive of his work-"it's a tough life, Louise, but the police do important work, so don't fret him so."

On the other hand, Greg's relationship with his mother-in-law had gone from slightly shaky to downright hostile over the same period. She couldn't resist it this time, either, as she came up carrying her newly baptised grandson Tom and saying to Greg, "Why don't you hold him for a while, Gregory? You might realise that children don't bite." When he obliged, and started to smile at the little toddler's sleepy face, she followed up with the inevitable comment.

"So, when can I expect a grandchild from Louise?"

He snapped back at her, "Talk to your daughter about that, as it's not my choice."

He'd regretted it almost as soon as it slipped out. Without a word, she collected Tom from him and stalked off. In less than an hour, the message must have been communicated to his wife, because when she came up to him in the queue for the lunch buffet, she said under her breath to him. "Thanks for that, Greg- just what I need for the next three days is Mum going on, and on, and on about me having children." She left a smile on her face for any onlooker to see, but he could hear the anger in her words.

It was an issue that had been discussed often and just as often been the basis of an argument. He liked the idea of children, she didn't. "It's alright for you, Greg- you'd be out all day and half the night on police work; I'd be stuck at home in the mindless company of a bawling infant. Just so not my scene. I have a lifestyle I love, work I enjoy, friends and colleagues I want to spend time with- why on earth would I give all that up to become a housewife, mother and drudge?"

"Just don't tell your mother that, or I expect she might take offense." Greg just wanted Louise to be happy, but he didn't really seem able to do much that was right. She stalked off, eating her lunch in the company of an old school friend. The rest of the afternoon passed surprisingly quickly, as an endless supply of the proud parents' friends, family and guests milled about and kept him occupied by the kind of odd conversations that one has at such functions- with people he didn't know and was likely never to see again. As ever at such occasions, the first topic of conversation was trying to figure out each other's relationship to the parents, before moving onto other social niceties. Inevitably, he did get around to telling people what he did for a living.  _What does she want me to do? Lie about it? Make something up, like I'm an accountant or something?_

When the proud parents and child departed, it wasn't long before other guests started disappearing, too. Greg and Louise were staying at her parents' house, a sprawling modern five bedroom house in Altrincham, about nine miles south of Manchester. Her dad was in the construction business and had made a fortune during the house building boom of the 1980s and '90s. It felt strange to be sleeping in a room that had once been her childhood bedroom, but when they arrived, he was relieved to see that the room was no longer the pink teenager's boudoir that he remembered from when they first married. "Mum redecorated all of our rooms last year, Greg- she wants them to be ready for the hordes of grandchildren." Each of her three sisters had left home, married and had children, but Louise was the rebel of the family. She'd gone to London and made a career for herself in PR.

"I'm taking a shower. Can't face Mum right now."

While she was doing that, he put his feet up. Within seconds he was looking at her handbag, sitting on the floor.  _Sod it. I want to know if anything is happening_.

So, he fished into it for his phone and switched it on.

**One missed call. 0939am**

**You have four new text messages:**

**09.40am Know anything dodgy about a banker called Van Coon? SH**

**10.18am Found a dead banker, interested? SH**

**10.37am Donovan being usual prat, says you're away. How is that even possible? SH**

**12.48am Lestrade, just who the hell is DI Dimmock? He looks like a 12 year old! SH**

**01.15pm Dim by name, dim by nature. Come back, I need you. SH**

That last one raised a smile. He wondered if Sherlock was involving his flatmate in this investigation as he had with the serial suicides. Maybe he should ask. But, as he was thinking about what to reply, he heard the shower switch off, and the sound of Louise towelling herself dry. So, he turned the phone off and pushed it back into her bag. Still he couldn't resist the smile, thinking about what Sherlock would make of the newest DI to join the Homicide and Serious Crime Command.

And no sooner had that thought occurred to him than he wondered what the  _hell_  Dimmock would make of someone like Sherlock. Most of the other Murder Investigation Teams had some inkling of him, Greg had been happy over the years to 'lend him out' to others when their cases were particularly difficult and perplexing. But he always prefaced such a loan with a lot of briefing. "Just so you don't take offense, he's like that with everyone. Don't let it bother you. He's worth it because he will see stuff that no one else can, and shortens the investigation as a result. Just be careful that he doesn't get into the case so much that he goes haring off after a suspect himself; he can get kinda carried away at times." And then there would be the warning about SO6 and the other agency that would be following the consulting detective's activities. "Usually, they keep their distance, but don't get too freaked if someone in a government car turns up." With all those caveats, there were some DIs who decided that Sherlock Holmes wasn't worth the trouble.  _Poor fool them- he's made my team the best performing one in the whole damn Met._  But, Lestrade knew he was patience personified.

"What are you smiling at?" Louise was standing in front of him now, wrapped in a fluffy white bathrobe, towelling her hair off.

"You," he answered quickly, and reached up to pull her down onto the bed.


	2. Day Two

Louise was downstairs. After a family breakfast, her mother had insisted that she help with the dishes. Greg watched her roll her eyes and mutter "here it comes," but she gave a resigned laugh and joined her mother in the kitchen. Greg went upstairs and pulled his phone out of his wife's handbag. He needed to contact Dimmock. He'd spent a good two hours lying awake last night thinking about the texts that Sherlock had sent him, while Louise slept like a baby beside him. Well, it was her bed after all, so she was used to it. Just a bit too soft for his taste.

**You have six missed calls.**

He checked the numbers- all six were from Sherlock. Naturally, no voice mail messages. He never did that. "If you can't be bothered to pick up, then I can't be bothered to talk to you." He could hear the sarcastic baritone as if Sherlock were in the bedroom with him.

**You have three new text messages.**

**_Yesterday:_ **

**6.10pm Dimmer Switch still says suicide. He's more of an idiot than you are. SH**

**_Today:_ **

**10.06am Brian Lukis, Freelance journalist, murdered last night while you were on holiday. Same MO. SH**

**10.07am Dimwit still being awkward, but at least ballistics can't lie. Come home. Families are boring when there is a serial killer loose. SH**

Greg took the phone into the loo, then hit the speed-dial for the office. Donovan answered.

"Hello, Guv. You're on  _leave_. That means you  _leave_  and don't need to phone in. Everything's under control."

"Sergeant Donovan, do us a favour and transfer me to DI Dimmock, please."

He could hear the sigh. "Do I really have to, sir? I mean just once can't the division manage to solve a case without the Freak interfering?"

He growled his reply- "Now, Donovan. I don't have time for this." Without a word she punched in Dimmock's extension number and slammed the phone down.

The phone wasn't picked up after five rings and switched to voice mail. "You have reached the phone of Detective Inspector Andrew Dimmock. Please leave your name and number after the tone and I will get back to you." Greg thought he sounded older than he looked in person. The beep went.

"Hi there- this is Greg Lestrade. Try not to hit him, please. I'm sure he's being an obnoxious pest, but Sherlock Holmes is actually right. Whatever he said to you, just delete the rude stuff and think of the content. You'll see he's right. Give him what he wants."

He switched the phone off and put it back in her bag.

When he went back down stairs, Louise's dad, Brian, was in the sitting room, reading the paper. He looked in, realised that Louise must be still in the kitchen with her Mum, and started heading there to join them.

"Wouldn't do that, if I were you." It was said from behind the newspaper, but there was enough caution in the tone to stop Greg in his tracks. He backed up and returned to the sitting room.

"Why not?"

"They're at each other's throats at the moment, and there will be tears shortly."

Greg looked towards the kitchen, slightly alarmed. "Whose?"

He heard a snort, as Brian put the paper down. "Either, or both. It's happened often enough. Just sit down and wait it out, like me."

So he did, picking up the sports section and opening it. But he kept looking at the door into the kitchen as he could hear the two women's voices getting louder and louder.

Brian just sniffed and Greg looked over at him to see a smile that just couldn't be contained.

"What? You think this is  _funny?"_

"Look, let me give you some advice, Greg. I've lived with four women in this house for over thirty years; you  _don't_  want to interfere. Our Lou can hold her own against her Mum. She's the only one who really can. Don't know why, but the others just seem to care too much."

He couldn't shed his own frown though. Greg and his sister got on well with their parents when they were alive. Their Mum died …almost twenty years ago.  _Odd, it doesn't feel that long ago._  And their Dad had passed away a decade later.

Something metallic clattered in the kitchen, and he could hear Louise yelling, "You just don't understand it; get out of my life and go live you own, Mum!"

Brian smirked. "This is tame, believe me. Usually they are bawling the house down by now. Must be because you're here. They take no notice of me. When Louise was still living at home, I got an allotment just to have somewhere to escape for some peace and quiet." He chuckled.

"I always thought that Louise took after her Mum, but now I'm not so sure. Have they really been fighting like this all along?"

"Yup. Like two peas in a pod, they are. And that's the problem. Both have got ideas they don't mind foisting on others, and neither gives an inch. Why do you think Lou puts more than a hundred and fifty miles between her and her Mum? At one point, before she met you, she wanted to emigrate to either America or Australia." He put the paper down.

"Don't get me wrong, son. I love 'em both to bits. Married the one, so I must have. After the other three little sweethearts were born, I thought I was never going to see her genes come through. Lou put that straight out of my head. She was giving her Mum grief the moment she was born –and hasn't stopped since."

Greg tilted his head to look at the calm older man. "Does Margaret yell like that with you?"

"No, does Louise yell like that with you?"

Greg shook his head. "She's pretty wicked with sarcasm when I do something that irritates her, but she's never shouted."

"Margaret's like that, too, with me. Wicked tongue, but not  _angry_  if you know what I mean. Just knows what she wants and heaven help the man that stands in her way. Lucky for me, her definition of what she wanted included three kids and a nice house, with a husband who wasn't underfoot all the time." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Lou's got  _modern_  ambitions, though- career, status, money -all the trappings." Then he looked at Greg thoughtfully. "Want to know something? I always hoped you'd be the one to tame her a bit. Make her think that there were other things worth caring about. You're a solid sort of bloke; I just hope she appreciates you enough."

Greg looked a little surprised at the compliment. He looked towards the kitchen door again, where things seemed to have gone quiet. "Yeah, so do I, because I do love her, you know."

There was another shout, again from Lou. "Right, Mum, if that's the way you feel, then I'm out of here."

Brian just said quietly, "Yes, Greg, I know. Take care of her, will you? I'll look after mine, and maybe we can get them through dinner tonight without them killing each other."

She came back into the room and glared at the two men. "What are you looking at, Greg?" He could see her eyes were wet, but she had not cried. He just said mildly, "Fancy a drive, then? I'd like to see some of the countryside."

"Yeah, that suits me just fine. Can I borrow the car, dad?"

He didn't look up from the paper. "Keys are where they've always been, Lou."

She stomped off into the hall to pick up her coat, and Greg shot a conspiratorial smile at Brian.

OoO

He drove. She was in too much of a temper, and she knew it. "Thanks for getting me out of there. Just drive south east for a while, Follow the signs to Wilmslow then Macclesfield. Let me just calm down." After a half hour, she told him to turn off to Bollington, and then into the Peak District National Park. "Let's have lunch at the Cat and Fiddle."

Greg had learned to keep quiet when Louise was in a mood. She would calm down. If he tried to talk to her, she'd just transfer her anger onto him. So, they both kept silent and let the countryside entertain them. Greg loved the Peak District. It had been a surprise to him. "It's not all dark satanic mills, Greg." Yes, well – he was a Londoner born and bred, so to him anything north of Watford would be "flat cap and whippet" territory. Manchester had not disappointed him- it fit the stereotype. But, when she had taken him home to meet her parents, after he had proposed, she took him up here to realise that it wasn't all industrial squalor. The Cat and Fiddle Inn had become their favourite bolt hole over the years.

As he bought a pint and ordered their food at the bar, he caught sight of her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. She was looking out of the window. He was 47, she ten years younger. And as his hair turned silver, hers was defiantly blonde. He still thought it a miracle that he could have managed to marry someone so attractive. On the drive up into the Peak District, he'd been wondering about how he could sneak a look at his phone again, but looking at her, he decided to leave it, and just enjoy the afternoon.

oOo

But after they got back from their lunch and the walk to burn a few of the calories off, and then the drive home, Greg started thinking again about the phone. No sooner had they walked in, Brian told Louise that her Mum was over at her neighbour's, and that she hoped she'd come over "and visit." Louise smiled. She'd spent hours over at Mrs Thompson's house, when sulking away from her mother. The dear woman was now in her 80's and pretty much house-bound with arthritis. She looked at Greg. "Would you mind?"

"Not at all. Sounds like a good idea."

He was  _very_ glad that she left her handbag, and she was out of the door for less than three minutes before he was fishing in it for his phone. When he pulled it out, he stuck his head into the living room, and just said. "Don't tell her, please? I need to call the office, but I promise I won't be long."

Brian just smiled and returned to watching the rugby match. "You've got at least twenty minutes before they can escape the old lady's clutches. She looked after Lou for so many years when her mother and she had a fight; best peacemaker I know."

Greg headed for the dining room and turned the phone on.

**You have one new message.**

He didn't recognise the extension, but knew it was the Met, so assumed it was Dimmock. He hit the play key.

"Got your message. With respect, Lestrade, this guy's a bit of a loony. I mean, I concede he was right about the murder, and there are some tentative similarities in the deaths of the journalist and the banker. So I did let him look at the flat for five minutes- then he went tearing out carrying a library book. Then a few minutes ago, the other guy- the short one shows up and asks for the journalist's diary. I gave it to him, but …give me a call, will you? We need to talk." There was a sigh and then the message ended.

He smiled.  _Yeah, well I can understand how strange it must seem._  He rang the number.

"Dimmock."

"Lestrade here, got your message. Look, I'm sorry that I didn't get a chance to talk to you before he got involved. What's the story so far?"

Dimmock recounted the details of the death of the banker, Eddie Van Coon, and then the murder of the journalist, Brian Lukis. "What I don't get is how he thinks the two are connected. I mean apart from the fact that both happened inside locked rooms. He thinks that someone climbed in. But…"

"You don't think it's possible."

"Well, come on- the first one was six floors up and the second one was four. And that one had no ledges, no footholds. I mean the guy would have to be bloody spider-man to pull it off. But, Holmes doesn't even listen when I question his theories; he's an arrogant sod."

"What's he doing now?"

"Well, the short one- the doctor, can't remember his name. Actually, I'm not sure he ever introduced himself, and Holmes, ah, well…he's a little short on the social front."

Greg snorted. "Yeah, you could say that.., just let Sherlock do his thing. The other guy is his flatmate, a doctor named John Watson. He's…okay; Sherlock's involves him in a case occasionally. Actually, he's easier to get on with, so if you can, try to get him to tell you what Holmes is getting up to."

"Is it safe to trust them with evidence?" Dimmock sounded a little uncertain. "I handed over the journalist's diary to Watson, but, will it come back contaminated or compromised? It could be important in a trial and I don't feel comfortable breaking the rules this way."

"Yeah, well, just don't let Forensics in on it, okay? And keep Holmes away from the CS Examiner Anderson- they  _really_  don't get on."

"Uh, could you hang on a minute?" There was a muffled conversation. "Your Sergeant just showed up and wants a word." He could hear the phone being handed over.

"Guv, you won't believe this. We've just been told that Watson got arrested earlier this afternoon for damaging public property. He was caught by some CPOs doing spray paint graffiti. He was processed at Charing Cross Police Station who say he's likely to get an ASBO for it."

Greg swallowed. "Sally, hand the phone back to Dimmock, please." She sniffed, but he would hear her handing it back.

"Yeah?" Now Dimmock sounded annoyed.

"Look, I know it sounds weird, but I'm going to tell you to just ignore anything my Sergeant says on the subject of Sherlock Holmes. I have no idea why Watson would do that, but no doubt, Sherlock will be somewhere behind it. His methods are highly unorthodox, but they work. So, I'll make this simple. Trust him, do what he says and TRY to get him to keep you in the picture. That means going to him- that's at 221b Baker Street. He won't bother keeping you in the loop unless you get in his face. He'll just demand stuff and leave you in the dark until he's solved it otherwise. You've got to keep an eye on him."

There was silence on the other end, and Greg could just imagine his scepticism. He gave it one last shot. "There is a reason my team has the best clear up rate in the Division, and that reason is Sherlock Holmes. I know he's …not what you would expect. But, just be patient; it will pay off in the end."

Greg heard the front door. "I've got to go; good luck, Dimmock." He ended the call, and slipped the phone into his pocket. He'd have to find an opportunity to get it back in her handbag before she noticed it was missing, but at least he'd done his duty.


	3. Day Three

Day Three was bliss. Greg and Louise slept in, and then by the time they got down for breakfast, Margaret had disappeared to do some shopping. Brian was sitting at the kitchen table, reading his newspaper.

After an exchange of "Good mornings," Greg asked his father-in-law "Do you ever go with her shopping?"

Brian just smirked. "I could say something to irritate Lou, but I won't."

Louise was rustling in the refrigerator and bread bin for the makings of toast. "Don't go there, Dad."

The smirk broadened. "She knows that the northern male's answer to that question is that grocery shopping is women's work, but I always say in my defence that there is no point in me going, because I have no say in any purchases. Margaret makes all the food choices."

Louise pulled her head out of the cupboard where she'd found the jam jars, and said in a waspish tone, "Well, if you men ever did the cooking, then you'd get a chance to make decisions about the shopping."

"Me, cook? Your mother would divorce me rather than eat something I'd prepared. She'd swear I was trying to poison her."

"Well, Greg  _can_  cook; he just never gets back from the office early enough to do it."

He looked a bit guiltily at the plate of perfect toast that she delivered to his place at the table. "Well, I will be sure to tell the criminals of London to oblige me by keeping more social hours when it comes to homicides and serious crimes. I'd really enjoy being able to cook you a meal."

She sat down with her own plate. "You promised- no talking about work. For once, I want a whole day of your undivided attention. I do not want to hear the words 'metropolitan', 'police' or 'force' until we are back inside the M25. No 'murder', no 'homicide', no 'criminal'- okay? And on pain of death, no 'Sherlock Holmes'. I swear that if I ever divorce you, I'll cite him as the other guilty party. Greg, I've still got your phone- so if you do stray, it's going straight into the bin, smashed into pieces. And Dad, you are hereby forbidden to raise the topic again. Got that?"

Struck dumb by the ferocity of her lecture, the two men in her life just nodded silently, in unison.

oOo

And Greg relaxed and enjoyed the day, just spending it with Louise. The time reminded him why he married Louise. Both of their working lives in London were stressful, and demanding. By the time they got home after a full day's work, they were tired and cranky, but had the rest of daily life to contend with- preparing meals, washing, shopping, cleaning the flat, doing the errands, even the paperwork needed to keep the household going- bills, bank statements, tax returns- just stuff. When they tried to shoe-horn in some form of social life as well as time together, it was not surprising that they rarely had the energy to really put much into their relationship. They co-existed, shared the same space, but didn't really get the best out of being together.

The three day break was coming to an end, so they decided to prolong it as much as possible. In fact, at Louise's request, they decided to delay leaving Manchester until after the evening rush hour was over. Taking one of the last trains of the night would mean they wouldn't get into the flat until after midnight, but that suited Greg just fine.

It wasn't until they got a taxi at Euston Station that he started thinking about what he was going to find when he finally got his phone back. When they were inside the door of the flat in Seven Sisters, she put her handbag down and headed for the loo. While she was in there, he fished it out and switched in on.

 _You have three new messages_.

He hit  ** _voicemail_**  and then  ** _play_**

**9.12pm**

"Dimmock here. You said I should trust him. I've done everything you asked, Lestrade, but your man has come up with zero. First of all yesterday he makes me spend valuable police resources packing up two dead men's books- I'm talking crate loads of them, and then deliver them to Baker Street. Oh- and did I mention that he came up yesterday with another dead body, this one a woman in a museum? Then he spins this tale about the bodies being hits by a Chinese tong because the bodies have a similar tattoo on their foot. He says they stole something from a smuggling ring, but he tells me sweet FA about what was actually stolen. His latest form of torture? He and his sidekick phone in tonight about a Chinese circus being a front for the smuggling ring, so I gave the order for a raid. Did we get a result? Oh, no- that would be too easy. I have  _nothing_  to show for it – other than a massive bill for overtime. It's just so weird that the sidekick took his girlfriend on a date to this so-called circus, but there's no circus when we get there."

Greg could hear the strain in the young man's voice. "Please, Lestrade come back and sort this maniac out. Your Sergeant has got the right idea about Holmes." Then the message ended.

**11.42pm**

"Dimmock again. This guy is definitely certifiable. I've now got _another_ dead body- one Chinese tong heavy, in a railway arch at Black Tramway- that's in Southwark by the way. And a cock-and-bull story about a jade hair pin worth nine million pounds- but no sign of it turning up. The really weird part? The other Chinese heavy who was still alive confirms the story. He's singing right now – he'll turn evidence in exchange for the chance to do time for kidnapping and assault in the UK- anything but return to China. We haven't got the property back, and the leader of the gang escaped, but at least we seem to be moving somewhere. I've got to say, though, I'm confused as hell. Can you PLEASE come back in tomorrow morning and sort this out? It makes my brain hurt working with him."

**12.04am**

"It's me. We need to talk. I think I've broken the case. I'll come in at 11 and present the evidence- but to you, just you. I don't think Dimmock can take any more."

Greg smirked at the tinge of pleading under the baritone tones. Sounded like he wasn't the only one who was going to enjoy getting back to normal tomorrow.

He thought about it. The saying is that absence makes the heart grow fonder. With Louise, the reverse was true- spending time with her made him appreciate her more than he did when all the other demands on his life were there. In Sherlock's case, however, the saying worked. The three day holiday had made him realise how much he'd learned to trust the man. But even he needed the occasional break from the relentless pace of working with the world's only consulting detective. He was glad to know that for once, someone  _else_  had managed to keep an eye on Sherlock. 


End file.
